Early on deck next morning we watched the mists fade away until Wei‐hai‐wei stood revealed in the strong light of the sun. Our latest possession in the East consists of a small island, called Liu‐Kung‐tao, on which stands the town. It lies about four miles from the mainland, of which a few hundred square miles has been leased to England. The harbour is sheltered to the south by the hills on the coast, to the north by the island. It affords ample anchorage for a large fleet, but could not be adequately defended without a large expenditure. During the China‐Japan War the Chinese fleet sheltered in it until routed out by the Japanese torpedo boats; while the Japanese army marched along the heights of the mainland, seized the forts on them, and, turning their guns on the island, forced its surrender.
At the end of the island, round which our transport had passed, was a small peninsula, on which stood the fort we had seen. Dismantled now, it was unused by the present garrison. Close by, on reclaimed land, lay the recreation ground; and even at the early hour at which we saw it, tennis and cricket were in full swing. Just above it, in that close proximity of life and death found ever in the East, was the cemetery, where many crosses and tombstones showed already the price we pay for empire. Near at hand was the magazine, over which a Royal Marine sentry watched. Below, to the right, lay the Naval Dockyard with a pier running out into the harbour, one destroyer alongside it, another moored a short distance out. Along the sea‐front and rising in tier after tier stood well‐built stone Chinese houses, which now, large‐windowed and improved, serve as residences, shops, and offices for Europeans. A staring whitewashed wall bore the inscription in big, black letters, “Ah Ting. Naval Dairy Farm.” A picturesque, open‐work wall with Chinese summer‐houses at either end enclosed the Club. Farther on, a little above the harbour, stone steps through walled terraces led up to the Headquarter Office, once the Yamen—a long row of single‐storied houses with a quaint gateway, on either side of which were painted grim Chinese figures of heroic size. On the terrace in front stood some large Krupp guns with shields, taken in the present campaign. The Queen’s House, as these buildings are called, divides the naval from the military quarter of the town, the latter lying to the right. A few good European bungalows sheltered the General, the Commanding Royal Engineer, and the local representative of the famous firm of Jardine, Mathieson, and Company. In the lines of Chinese houses close by were the residences of the military officers and the hotel. To the right stacks of fodder proclaimed the presence of the Indian Commissariat. Past open ground lay a small camp and a few more houses.
Above the town the island rises in terraced slopes to the summit, four to six hundred feet high, the regular outline of which was broken by mounds of upturned earth that marked the beginning of a new fort. On the hillside are long stone walls with gates at intervals, which date from the Chinese occupation, built by them, not to keep the enemy out in time of war, but to keep their own soldiers in. Well‐laid roads lead to the summit or round the island. The slopes are green with small shrubs and grass, but nothing worthy of the name of tree is apparent. Towards the eastern end were the rifle‐ranges, near which a fort was being constructed.
In the harbour was a powerful squadron of British battleships and cruisers; for Wei‐hai‐wei is the summer rendezvous of our fleet in Chinese waters.
To the south the mainland lay in a semicircle. Rugged, barren hills rise abruptly—in many places almost from the water’s edge. Where the ground slopes more gently back from the sea lines of substantial stone barracks have been erected for the Chinese Regiment, with excellent officers’ quarters and a good mess. Nestling among trees—almost the only ones to be seen on the iron‐bound coast—lies a large village. East of it a long triangle of embrasured stone wall—the base on the shore, the apex half‐way up the hill behind—guards the original town of Wei‐hai‐wei, which still owns Chinese sovereignty, though all the country round is British territory. A few good bungalows and a large and well‐built hotel mark where the future Brighton of North China has already begun to claim a recognition; for in the summer months the European residents of Tientsin, Pekin, even of Shanghai are commencing to congregate there in search of cool breezes and a healthy climate. High up above all towers the chain of rugged hills from whose summits the victorious Japanese gazed down on the wrecked Chinese fleet and the battered forts of the island. Behind it, forty miles away, lies the little‐known treaty port of Chifu with its prosperous foreign settlement.
The day advanced. From the warships in the harbour the bugle‐calls rang out merrily in the morning air, answered by the brazen clangour of the trumpets of the Royal Artillery ashore. The rattle of musketry came from the rifle‐ranges, where squads of marines were firing. Along the sea‐front tramped a guard of the Chinese Regiment. Clad in khaki with blue putties and straw hats, they marched with a soldierly swing to the Queen’s House, climbed the steps, and disappeared in the gateway. Coolies laboured at the new fortifications. Boats shot out from the pier and headed for the warships. Volumes of dense black smoke poured from the chimneys of the condensing works—for no water fit for drinking is found on the island. A cruiser steamed out from her moorings to gun‐practice in the bay. And hour after hour we waited for the coming of the Health Officer, who alone could allow us to land. But, instead, the Transport Officer arrived, bearing orders for the ship to start at once for Taku. And so, with never a chance for us to go ashore, the anchor rumbled up and out we headed by the eastern passage. As we steamed out to sea we passed the tiny Sun Island, merely a deserted fort, still showing how cruelly battered and torn it had been by the Japanese shells. Round the steep north side of the island we swung and shaped our course for Taku in the track of the Allied Fleets that had swept in vengeful haste over those same waters to the merited punishment of China. All that day we passed along a rocky and mountainous coast and in among islands of strange and fantastic shape. Here an elephant, there a lion, carved in stone lay in slumber on the placid sea. Yonder a camel reposed in Nirvana‐like abstraction. On one islet, the only sign of life or human habitation we saw, stood a lighthouse, like unto lighthouses all the world over.
Next morning we awoke to find the ship at anchor. “Taku at last,” was the cry; and, pyjama clad, we rushed on deck. To see what? Where was Taku? All around a heaving, troubled waste of muddy sea, bearing on its bosom the ponderous shapes of warships—British, French, Russian, German, Austrian, Italian, Japanese. Close by, a fleet of merchantmen flying the red ensign, the horizontal stripes of the “Vaterland,” or the red ball on white ground of the marvellous little islands that claim to be the England of the Far East. Tugs and lighters were making for a German transport, the decks of which were crowded with soldiers. But of land not a sign. For the roadstead of Taku is so shallow that no ship of any considerable draught can approach the shore, and we were then ten miles out from the coast. Passengers and cargo must be taken ashore in tugs and lighters. Only those who have seen the place can appreciate the difficulties under which the transport officers of the various armies laboured in landing men, horses, guns, and the necessary vast stores of every description. And Captain Elderton, Royal Indian Marine, well deserved the D.S.O. which rewarded him for the excellent work he performed at the beginning of the campaign; when, having successfully conveyed our expedition ashore, he was able to lend invaluable assistance to the troops of many of the Allies.
The bar at the mouth of the Peiho River, which flows into the sea at Taku, can only be crossed at high tide; so we were forced to remain on board until the afternoon. Then, embarking on a launch that had come out to meet us, we steamed in to the land through a rough and tumbling sea. As we drew near, the low‐lying shore rose into view. On each side of the entrance to the Peiho ran long lines of solid earthworks—the famous Taku Forts. Taken in reverse and bombarded by the gunboats lying in the river, gallantly assaulted by landing parties from the Allied Fleets, which, owing to the shallowness of the water, could lend no other assistance, they fell after a desperate struggle, and now from their ramparts flew the flags of the conquering nations. Here paced an Italian sentry, there a Russian soldier leaned on a quick‐firing Krupp gun; for the forts were armed with the most modern ordnance. The red coat of a British marine or the white clothing of a group of Japanese artillerymen lent a few specks of bright colour to the dingy earthworks.
Close to the entrance of the Peiho stands a tall stone building; near it is the Taku Pilots’ Club, their houses, comfortable bungalows, close at hand. Between flat, marshy shores the river winds, its banks crowded with mud huts. Farther up we passed a small dock, in which lay a gunboat flying the Russian flag. Then more gunboats—American, French, and Japanese. A few miles from the mouth of the river is Tong‐ku, the terminus of the Tientsin‐Pekin Railway. At the outset of the campaign all nationalities, except the British, had chosen this for their landing‐place and established their depôts here. As we steamed past, we looked on a scene of restless activity. Russian, French, German, and Italian soldiers were busy disembarking stores and matériel from the lighters alongside, loading railway trucks in the temporary sidings, entraining horses and guns. The English, more practical, had selected a landing‐place a few miles farther up, at Hsin‐ho. Here they found themselves in sole occupation, and the confusion inevitable among so many different nationalities was consequently absent. An excellent wharf had been built, large storehouses erected, and a siding constructed from a temporary station on the railway. Hsin‐ho was our destination. Our launch stopped at the quay, alongside which two shallow‐draught steamers and a fleet of lighters were lying. Men of the Coolie Corps were hard at work; close by stood a guard of the stalwart Punjaub sepoys of the Hong Kong Regiment. Overhead flew the Union Jack.